On The Edge
by Nadin4400
Summary: Combining 2 tumblr prompts: Anonymous request: "Claire knocks on Owens bedroom door one night when she can't sleep because of her nightmares! Thank u " And Angsty Dialogue Prompt submitted by @bryc-dlls-hwrd: "Sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up". Clawen. Angst. Rated T/M for language and adult content.
Author's note: This is one of tumblr prompts I mostly post just there, but I like how it turned out, and it's pretty long too, so...Enjoy!

* * *

The first thing Owen bought upon his return from Isla Nublar was a new bike – a shiny back Honda, sleek and fast, that cost him nearly all of his savings, or so Claire suspected, based on the look of said purchase. The one that was spending a lot of time parked in her driveway.

"Yes, this was a very smart decision, Owen," she noted one afternoon when he took her out for coffee after basically dragging her out of the office. "Very thought-through."

"What can I say?" He shrugged and flashed an easy smile at her. "Everyone needs a hobby."

"I thought running was your hobby?" She arched an eyebrow at him in that elegant way that made Owen wonder if it was something she was taught to do at some fancy boarding school where they teach you how with a movement of a few muscles you could make yourself look like a queen and everyone around you like a peasant. Or so it felt. "Where are you at now? Ten miles a day?"

"Twelve."

With a slight disapproval, she watched him dump half of the sugar bowl into his cup of coffee so black and thick she thought it might actually be motor oil and start stirring it vigorously. How the man didn't have raging diabetes was beyond her, honestly.

Owen grabbed a cherry Danish pastry form the plate sitting between them and sank his teeth into it with gusto, which probably meant he had already ran those twelve miles today, Claire supposed. He certainly wasn't at home when she left for work this morning, although it didn't necessarily mean he was running. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he'd go to one of those coffee places that ran round the clock, or shoot hoops with Barry.

"I'm just saying, you could have done something more useful with that money."

"I know, I know, like invested it in real estate," he mimicked her voice.

They'd been through this already. He'd offered to move out and get out of her hair a few weeks into their co-habitation after the settlement cheque form InGen came in his mail, which at the time felt like the most sane and also the worst decision ever. Claire promptly offered to go with him through the Craigslist postings, dismissing one after another.

 _"'Vibrant atmosphere'? That definitely stands for frat parties. You'll never sleep. 'Quiet and picturesque neighborhood'. Hm, sure. They should've just said that leaving the house after dark is not advised under any circumstances. 'Must love pets'? God, the owner probably has 50 cats and you'll never wash off the smell." She tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk. "'Spacious and airy'…" her eyes bore into him. "That's a basement without windows, Owen. Seriously, have you never done this before? If those are your shortlisted choices, I don't want to even imagine that the rest of your list looks like."_

 _"How do you even know all this?" He stared at her like she'd just grown a second head._

 _Claire rolled her eyes, "Well, while you were provided food and board in the NAVY, some of us had to learn to navigate the real world."_

 _And after that, his house hunt kind of stalled._

"That's not what I meant."

Claire added some cream to her Americano and a spoonful of sugar. Later winter in California was lovely – a much needed break from chilly winds and rain of January, but not as stifling and hot as July would be. She pushed the wisps of hair that the breeze kept throwing in her face away, and then lifted her sunglasses up her forehead so they could double as a hair band.

"Got any vultures circling around you today?" Owen asked curiously around his mouthful of food.

Claire tore a piece of her own croissant with a small sigh. "When don't I?"

"Well, the next time you need me to hold your phone so you could punch someone, you know where to find me," he grinned at her, half-joking, half-hopeful.

The corner of her mouth lifted, her lips curving into a smile. "Not going to offer to do the punching for me?"

"And rob you of all the fun?" He gasped in mock horror. "Nah. Plus, I wanna see it."

She hummed and gave him the _look_ , although Owen wasn't quite sure if it was because he called swinging 'fun', or because the last time fists went flying, they were his. In his defense, though, that blogger shouldn't have asked her all that crap. Or jump out from behind Claire's car, for that matter. Not that she considered that an excuse. And they said chivalry would take you places.

So far, it took him as far as her guest room.

After the island, Barry's couch was an option, and so was Lowery's half-basement or something like that, and if Owen had an ounce of logic or self-preservation in him, he'd yes to either one of those offers. But when their plane touched the ground and Claire asked if he had anywhere to stay, the only word that came out of his mouth was a No. Because, idiot that he was, he took it as _something_ while it was obviously a big fat _nothing_. And it wasn't like he expected them to get at it like a couple of hormonal teenagers, but in the weeks he'd been sleeping on her sheets and watching her TV and cleaning out her fridge – okay, he was buying the food too but it wasn't really the point – she showed no sign of wanting it to be any different than that.

Owen honestly thought of bringing it up a time or two – something along the lines of ' _Hey, remember that kiss? Wanna do it again?_ ' or ' _So, when you asked me to come live with you, did you mean it to be like a stray cat or…?'_ or _'Funny thing, Claire, but my dick has a basically Pavlovian response to that peony-scented perfume of yours. Any time you wanna do anything about that, I'm all yours.'_ Okay, maybe not the last one, but it did cross his mind a time or two, or a hundred.

But it turned out that kissing someone when he thought they were both going to maybe die in the next 5 minutes was a hell of a lot easier than doing it when he knew there'd be repercussions of it. And not only because she'd probably kick him out of her house. Somehow, he suspected that he'd rather not have her the way he wanted than lose her as a friend as well.

Which didn't stop Owen from imagining them both in all kinds of situations when the clothing was optional, if not entirely unnecessary.

Then again, based on how many times he saw her with some hideous green stuff on her face, or how comfortable she was wearing sweats and her favourite tee with a hole near the shoulder that was about as old as the Pyramids of Egypt, it was probably safe to assume he was so far in the friend zone now he wouldn't find a way out even if he knew where to look. It was both oddly flattering and so depressing he was a step away from banging his head on the nearest wall. Hence the running. And hence the bike. It certainly didn't seem like the only other hobby he would gladly dedicate all of his spare time to was going to be an option in the foreseeable future.

"You'd think they'd move on to something else by now," Claire grumbled with a slight irritation, sipping her coffee.

"Six whole weeks after the collapse of the most ambition project in the world, and they're still not over it?" He frowned, trying to swallow a smile. "What are they thinking?"

"Well, maybe I'll get lucky and some sort of Godzilla will crawl out of the sea tomorrow and steal my spotlight," she hummed.

Her expression was odd though, her smile felt forced, and Owen's smirk dropped, his eyebrows pulling together. He propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. "Hey, everything okay?"

Claire sighed and looked away, chewing on her lip while her fingers kept folding and refolding a paper napkin, her croissant still mostly untouched on her plate. And Owen had to curl his fingers into firsts lest he reach over to tuck her hair behind her ear or do something else equally stupid. She must have not left her office much on the island, he noted absently, because it was only now that her freckles sprung to life in all their glory, dusting the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.

Which was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

Which kind of made him want to crawl into a deep hole and die.

Claire turned to him again and let out a long breath. "My testimony is next week," she made a face, grimacing a little. "I'm sure it'll be…. delightful."

Right. A steaming pile of lawsuits.

His name miraculously disappeared from the witness list, courtesy of Claire – something he was grateful for to no end. But while she was protected from the liability, thanks to the army of corporate lawyers whose hourly fees could buy them a fancy car or maybe a small apartment, she still had to sit on the stand and tell her side of the story, which, he suspected, wouldn't be a picnic in the park, all things considered.

It had been a while since the last time Owen saw this kind of jittery anxiety in her eyes, and he didn't miss it one bit.

"I'm sure you'll rip them a new one," he told her, hoping his voice sounded upbeat and optimistic.

She shook her head. "They can't pin anything on me because the creation of the assets… _animals_ was out of my line of work, which means they'll blame Simon for everything." She rubbed her forehead, her shoulders sagging a little. "Don't get me wrong. We're at fault for what happened, but I hate thinking that they'd drag his name through dirt just because he's not here to defend himself."

He covered her hand with his and squeezed it, her eyes locked with him huge and uncertain. And maybe it was nothing but a great deal of his wishful thinking perhaps, but he could swear her breath shortened at his touch, which made Owen's own heartbeat accelerate by the second.

It was the best time to say something deep and profound, and make her feel like he had her back no matter what – which he did – and that he could make everything better, and so on, and so forth.

"It's gonna be fine," he said instead with a grimace of a smile, kicking himself mentally for sounding like a doofus. "We can always divert everyone's attention by throwing something at the press."

Her lips quivered a little and stretched into a small smile. "It's all about ending up on YouTube with you," she cocked an eyebrow at him with a short laugh.

"Hey, it was one time, and it was totally not my fault," he protested defensively, making her chuckle.

The moment started to stretch between them, his hand going clammy over hers, which was probably gross. Owen cleared his throat and pulled it away, almost certain that she looked disappointed for a second. He slumped against the back of his chair and finished his long cold coffee in one gulp.

"You want me to come with you?" He asked, meeting her eyes again and wondering once again what the actually hell just happened and just how narrow was the ledge he was balancing on. "To the court," he added in case it wasn't clear enough. "For moral support."

Claire opened her mouth to respond, but her phone let out a string of high-pitched chimes and she grabbed it quickly, her forehead creasing. "Crap," she muttered and offered Owen an apologetic look. "I've got to go. I didn't realize it was this late already."

"Sure," Owen stood up as well and left a few bills on the table to cover their meal.

Maybe if he was lucky enough, he'd miss his turn and take a dive from one of cliffs running along the sunny coast of Southern California and finally put an end to that pathetic image of a jobless squatter he'd been channeling since they came back home. Come to think of it, it wasn't much of a surprise she was looking right through him half the time, regularly falling asleep on the couch in the middle of the _Shark Tank_ reruns with her legs stretched over his lap like he was her golden retriever or something. Next they would probably be braiding each other's hair and paint each other's toenails pink.

She said goodbye to him without really looking his way and headed for her car before he could respond, and Owen just stood in the middle of the sun-bathed pavement and tried really hard to go back to the moment when everything went so monumentally wrong, coming up empty every time.

xoox

The next weekend he was parked on Barry's couch killing zombies, their beer bottles leaving condensation stains on the coffee table before them.

"You should make a move before she started seeing someone else," Barry said as his character ducked behind a half-collapsed wall, only barely missing sharp teeth aimed for his neck.

"Why?" Owen glanced at him. "Did you hear anything? Anyone asked her out?"

Barry let out a gleeful laugh and took a swig of his beer. "No, but I've _seen_ Claire."

Owen slumped against the cushions, seriously contemplating just throwing his characters into the teeth of whatever nasty creature came after him next, seeing as how he couldn't do it with himself even though it did look rather tempting at the moment.

He'd told InGen to go fuck themselves two days after they returned to the States, and even though Claire couldn't do the same thing for both ethical and contractual reasons, she supported his decision, saying that he was better off without them. The problem was that being unemployed and, well, pretty much homeless, didn't make him a catch, and Barry was right – there never was a shortage of men in expensive suits swarming around her who actually knew what she was talking about when she slipped into that financial lingo that often made his brain hurt.

Not that she ever mentioned any of that to him, but maybe their relationship wasn't at this stage of sharing yet. It didn't mean anything. Barry had quit as well, but Lowery chose to stick around, although Owen suspected it was mostly his curiosity about how this scandal would unfold rather than a sense of loyalty toward Masrani Global that kept him going. Maybe a little bit of both. Their insurance package was quite attractive, after all.

"I just think that if I make a move, she might want to stop seeing me altogether, in any way," Owen explained, almost lazily fiddling with the buttons on his controller.

"You know, you were less of a chicken when you were running away from the hybrid from hell," Barry scoffed.

"Well, the stakes were lower then." Owen shook his head. "The worst thing I was facing was the possibility of death."

Lowery showed up shortly afterwards with a six-pack of beer and the conversation steered in another direction, spinning mostly around the bits of gossip Lowery was normally a source of, all the inside Masrani Global information neither Owen, nor Barry had an access to anymore. And these days, it was all about the park and the press and who was saying what about everyone who made it off the island.

It appeared he and Claire were a hot topic for a while, their hasty kiss caught on one of the surveillance cameras making it to YouTube and going viral after someone – the company itself, Owen suspected – leaked bits and pieces of the footage they probably thought were advantageous in one way or another. He wondered why Claire never told him anything about that. Then again, after she'd seen herself on the TV with that flare chased by the T-Rex about a hundred times, she kind of stopped checking the media for this kind of stuff.

Not that he could blame her.

"They're blowing it all out of proportion," Claire huffed after they caught the 6 o'clock news one night, and then a 7 o'clock report, and a few more specials between then and midnight, each of them coming up with the theories wilder than the one before that. In the end, they were practically speculating about how the I-Rex was actually a Terminator-style creature, half a living thing and half a robot of sorts.

Feet resting on his lap and his fingers digging into her soles as she sipped her wine, she stared at the screen with a frown, which he knew meant she really wanted to throw her glass at it, except it wouldn't have changed anything and the stains on the carpet would be impossible to get rid of.

"This is why you're doing press-conferences," he reminded her – not to disagree so much as to ease her mind a little.

She didn't take the bait.

"Yeah, so they could hear what they want to hear and twist it into some nonsense," she huffed and changed the channel, swearing off the news for good.

"Katie from HR asked about you, by the way," Lowery elbowed Owen, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Want me to set you guys up?" At that, Barry doubled over with laughter while Owen let out a pained groan and buried his face in his hands. Lowery's blinked in confusion, his gaze darting between them. "What did I say?"

xoox

The first hearing was about as awful as Owen thought it would be.

Claire never asked him to tag along, seeing as how he didn't have to – " _And if I didn't have to be there, trust me, I wouldn't be._ " But he chose to do do so anyway, if only for the sake of his own sanity. Plus, he'd never forgive himself for abandoning her like that.

Her testimony wasn't easy to listen to – even though she'd practiced it on him a few times to make sure she got all the facts accurately and in the right order. In the courtroom, however, it felt grim and so much more real than in the soft light of her kitchen.

On the stand, she looked calm and composed, her voice smooth and confident, and had Owen not known her better, he would probably never notice the way her hands were clasped together – so tight her knuckles had turned white – or the 'plastic' expression on her face.

After the court adjourned for the day, he caught up with her in the corridor and took her hand, squeezing it tight as they navigated their way through the sea of flashing cameras and microphones, although most of the reporters apparently knew better than to approach her when he was around. Which didn't exactly stop them from shouting out their questions, but Claire didn't seem to be hearing them anyway.

"Get me out of here," she whispered into his ear.

And so he did.

They bypassed the front exit and the parking lot packed with the news vans and headed for the back exit where he'd left his bike, choosing to leave the press waiting by her car for however long they wanted. It wasn't like it was going to drive off on its own anyway, they'd just pick it up later.

And then he started to drive and didn't stop until they were half-way to Oregon and the sun started to dip toward the horizon. Owen parked his bike near one of the middle-of-nowhere lookout point overlooking the ocean and the waves crashing against the rocks fifty feet below – the only sound interrupting the silence. The sun was low and bright orange, reflecting on the water and coloring it every shade of gold.

"You doing okay?" He asked Claire who walked over the wooden railing running along the edge of the cliff, her arms wrapped around her shoulders.

She grimaced a little without turning to him. "I knew it wouldn't be pretty," she admitted. "But it's just so…"

"You were doing great," Owen assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders from behind and squeezing them a little.

"And the worst thing is that everything that say is true," she sighed, her fingers brushing against his. "We _did_ make that thing to get more money. We _didn't_ think it through. We _should've_ seen something like this coming and adjusted the protocols–"

"Hey," Owen turned her around until she was facing him, her teeth digging into her lower lip and her freckles standing out bright on her pale skin. "You did everything you could, and more, Claire." He leaned a little closer to her so he wouldn't have to speak loudly over the wind. "If it wasn't for you, half of the guests wouldn't make it off the island alive."

"But it doesn't change anything, right?" She whispered. "People still died. Simon still died…"

"Well, wallowing won't change anything, either." He gave her a pointed look.

For a few moments, Claire just stood there, her face turned up to him. Her skin felt warm and smooth through the thin blouse she was wearing, her hair wavy and the breeze from the ocean blowing it back from her face.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For coming today. And for bringing me here."

"And you said the bike was a bad idea," he chuckled lightly, not liking the strain in her voice. "I guess I never said that, but…" he cleared he throat. "Thanks for getting me off the hook." His thumb ran along her arm. "I really do appreciate it, a lot."

She waved him off. "There's no need for both of us to go through it again. Besides, I didn't want you to hit anyone. Then I'd have to come visit you in jail and it's such a hustle…"

Owen scoffed. "I wasn't raised in a barn, for heaven's sake."

"The jury's still out on this one," she rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

"Court humor, huh?"

"Guilty," she admitted.

"Um, Claire?" Owen said after a few moments.

"Yes?"

It was exceptionally hard to think when her ocean-green eyes were studying his face and the scent of her was filing his head, practically squeezing his brain out of his ears. Her breathing was deep and steady now, her lips stopped trembling, although that only made him want to kiss her even more. When did they get to close, anyway?

He swallowed, hard, and licked his lips. "I was thinking…"

"Yes?" She breathed out.

Two cars passed by on the highway twenty feet away from them, one honking at another, and the spell was broken.

Owen's hands dropped down to his sides and he stepped away from her. "I'm starving," he announced. "Wanna get something to eat?"

She gave him a funny look, then cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Yes. Sure. Of course." Her smile was back but it was odd, and maybe it _had been_ the right time to make his move after all, but she was already going back toward his bike. And he wished he could just throw himself into the ocean or something. God, he was pathetic.

xoox

The temperature went up in the next few days, announcing an early arrival of spring, and even though Claire's apartment had a top-notch air-conditioning, Owen found himself craving the heat. Who knew that after barely leaving the island in over two years, its climate would be the one thing he would miss the most.

Except he sort of forgot how inconvenient it made the process of sleeping. Not that he was having it easy before, what with knowing that Claire was right on the other side of the wall. There certainly was no way to find a comfortable position in bed in this situation. She looked at him like he was crazy when he said that to her – the enjoying the heat part, not thinking on her in her bed part. Apparently, they might need an apocalypse for him to man up about the latter.

Owen rolled onto his back and threw his arm behind his head, staring at the intricate pattern of shadows on the ceiling, moving as the trees behind the window them casting them swayed in the wind. He'd stripped down to his boxer briefs and abandoned a thin blanket for a plain cotton sheet instead, and the breeze coming through the open window actually felt nice on his heated skin. He could hear the low hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen and the creaks of wood and the loud ticking of an old clock Claire appeared to be fond of in the living room. It all felt familiar, almost comforting, and if it wasn't for a million images he would much rather not have in his head—

"Owen?"

He jerked up when she poked her head into his half-open door.

"Hey," he called back, his voice low and hoarse, which probably sounded like he was sleepy, except it was primarily caused by the sight of her dressed in a tight tank top and a part of impossibly tiny shorts. Well, the heat got to her as well, but it wasn't really making anything easier for him. "Everything okay?"

She hesitated in the doorway, until he sat up in his bed, properly freaked out by her midnight visit now.

"Claire…"

"Do you still have them?" She asked quietly, chewing on her lip and sort of giving his room a quick cursory look. "The nightmares?"

Owen stared at her for a moment or two, suppressing the urge to pinch himself because it was starting to remind him of a dream or two he'd already had. Except the heat felt real, and Claire smelled real enough of her stupid lotion that was driving him nuts ever since day one, and the room suddenly shrunk to the size of a birdcage.

"C'mere," he said softly, scooting over to make more space on the bed.

Claire slipped under the sheet and lay down facing him, her arm tucked under her head on the spare pillow. She felt warm, her skin all but glowing in her dark, and his heart was making those scary booming sounds against his ribcage, probably trying to break free.

He mirrored her posture, his eyes searching her face – as much as the darkness allowed. "I do," he admitted. "But they'll go away. It'll get better. Much better. I promise."

"How do you know?" She whispered.

He shrugged and smiled at her, and… What were they talking about, again?

"Because it's how it works," he said simply, as if it explained everything. And maybe it did.

"Sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up," she murmured, her voice breaking a little. "You ever feel that way?"

At that, Owen reached over and brushed his fingertips along her cheek. "Not so much lately."

"What am I supposed to do now, Owen?" She took in a shuddered breath and then exhaled slowly. "I can't undo it, and I can't make it easier for anyone, and… Half the time I can't even close my eyes without hearing that thing eat someone." Her voice dropped even lower.

"Wasn't your fault, Claire."

"I thought you were dead."

"Shhhh…"

He shifted closer to her, his hand resting on her cheek moved into her hair, his fingers threading through the soft waves that felt silky against his skin. And then next thing he knew, he lips brushed against hers. For a moment, she went completely still, and Owen thought his heart might just stop, and then she was kissing him back, her lips warm and soft against his, her hand trailing up his bare chest and around his neck, pulling him closer. She tasted the way he remembered, only better because nothing was trying to kill them this time, no one was screaming in pain and fear, and he'd been waiting for so long for this it almost didn't feel real.

"Owen…" She started as he pulled back before he'd actually suffocated – not that it was a bad way to go – and the reality of what had just happened hit him like a perfectly aimed sucker punch.

"I'm sorry–" he began, wondering what was the protocol for this particular situation. The one that didn't involve moving to another planet and learning to grow crops in vacuum or whatever.

"Can I stay?" Claire asked at the same time.

He blinked, confused. And then her question finally kicked in, and he was pulling her toward him again, his lips pressing to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, before finally capturing her lips again. "Hell, yes." He murmured as she spread over him, her body pressed against his everything he ever imagined it to be, and more.

Owen ran her fingers though her hair, kissing her slower and deeper, torn between savouring every moment of this and going straight for what he wanted so bad it almost hurt. And maybe they should have slowed down and actually talked about what was going on, but the next thing he knew she was pulling away, and for a split-second he was certain she'd changed her mind. But then she was tugging off her tank top, and it got stuck at her neck, tangled her elbows until he helped lift it off and toss it away, the sound of her giggling sending sparkles along his skin, the desire shooting through him like jolts of lightning.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in a raspy voice as Claire pulled him over her, her fingernails digging into his shoulders in that delicious way that nearly made him lose his mind.

He smiled against her mouth and kissed her deeper, one of his hands cupping her cheek while the other slipped under the waistband of her shorts. He swallowed her soft gasp with another kiss, his grip on him tightening, her hand catching his wrist.

"Slower," she breathed out, and Owen obliged obediently, working his magic until her breathing grew short and erratic and her grasp on him got more urgent, her fingers tugging at the hair on her nape of his neck as he started kissing his way down her body, her pale skin almost translucent in the moonlight.

There was a hummingbird tattoo low on her right hip, and he made a mental note to ask her about it later, but now he had some more pressing matters to take care of. She let out a low grunt of protest when he pulled away to shed the rest of their clothes that started seriously getting in the way, and he just needed to see all of her. And then he was hovering over her again, and kissing her almost frantically, his hand traveling slowly up her body from her hip to her breast, and in that moment, it seemed so goddamn unfair he had only two hands when her certainly needed ten.

"Claire…" he paused.

Her eyes flew open, and she nodded after a moment of hesitation when it occurred to her he was actually waiting for her permission. "It's okay," she assured him, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him down.

"Thank God," Owen muttered into her hair, pushing into her as her impossibly long legs wrapped around his hips, her back arching to meet him. "We should've been doing this all along," he whispered almost soundlessly, kissing her face, her neck, whatever skin he could reach. His hands found hers and pinned them above her head as his hips started to rock, slowly at first, marvelling at the sensation of filling her, having her wrapped around him so tight he didn't even know where he ended and he began, and then picking up the pace, encourage by the soft moans that escaped her lips with every exhale.

If he was going to wake up from this—

And then Claire stilled beneath him with a gasp morphing into a whimper, and he was laughing quietly into her ear as his hips continued their movement until he was grunting against her skin, and it was her turn to chuckle as she carded her fingers through his hair damp with sweat.

Owen rolled off of her and onto his side lest he crush her with his body, and when Claire turned her head, his lips were right there, kissing her slowly and sweetly now that it seemed like they had all time in the world. His hand cupped the back of her head and the light breeze started to prickle her skin that felt suddenly cool without Owen's body pressed to hers. She rolled onto her side, smiling in the dark between deep, sexy kisses, her leg thrown over his and curled around his sheen, and her hand resting on his cheek.

"Well, that was…" Claire started as she pressed her forehead to his with a short, disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah," Owen echoed helpfully, physically incapable of not grinning like a moron. "And this is precisely why I don't particularly want to never wake up," he added as his fingers started drawing slow circles on her small of her back.

"You didn't know," she protested – which was more of a reflex, than an actual disagreement.

He pecked her on the tip of her nose. "I kind of always hoped," he admitted. "Don't go, okay?"

She scooted closer into him, her hand falling form his face to rest on his chest, his heart thumping rapidly under her palm. "I thought that was the deal," she reminded him.

"Damn right, it was." He stretched on the sheets, pulling her toward him, his arm locked around her like she could slip right through his fingers if he didn't hold on tight, and then kissed her forehead and then the top of her hair. "It totally was."

xoox

When Owen woke up in the morning, the bed was empty and so was the house.

He found a yellow sticky note on the fridge saying ' _Work. Didn't want to wake you'_. His lips quirked. If she got any more romantic than that, she could start writing poetry or something. His body felt pleasantly spent, his muscle sore in his favourite way, and if he had any doubt about whether or not the last night was real, a bite mark on his shoulder – he could not remember for the life of him when and how it happened – was enough proof to convince him otherwise.

He added an extra mile to his morning run, mostly unintentionally, and then tried her phone when he returned back, but it went straight to voicemail, which wasn't anything new. She was probably stuck at some meeting or another. So around lunch time, he habitually drove to her office, hoping to snatch her away for half an hour – bite mark or not, he still wasn't one hundred percent convinced he didn't make it all up.

When he arrived to Masrani Global, Claire was talking to her assistant, a grad student named Mark who gave him a small wave when Owen stepped out of the elevator. The way the guy was practically terrified of her was almost comical – although Claire seldom found it amusing. " _I have never been anything but absolutely nice to him_ ," she complained once, and although Owen didn't doubt her words one bit, working for a woman who took a T-Rex for a walk without thinking twice must have been rather intimidating however you looked at it.

She spotted him heading their way and excused herself, at which Mark promptly disappeared.

Owen followed her into her office and closed the door behind them, reaching for her the moment they were alone, but Claire proceeded toward her desk, not quite sipping out of his grasp, but certainly not throwing herself into his arms.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants and cleared his throat. "Wanna go get lunch together? Maybe at that Chinese place that you like?"

Claire finally turned to him, her expression odd – and not in a way he liked. She leaned against her desk, her hands gripping its edge on either side of her thighs. "I hoped maybe we could talk first," she said.

"Okay," he agreed if a little cautiously.

She let out a long breath. "Look, Owen, last night–"

"If you say it was a mistake," he interrupted her, "I swear to god…"

"What? No! Of course, not." She exhaled slowly and rubbed her forehead. "I just… It kind happened out of the blue, and I don't think that it's a good idea for us to jump into anything so fast…"

He stared at her for a long moment. "Fast? Claire, it's been a year and a half. Sloths jump faster."

"I don't think sloths… That's not the point."

"And the point is?"

She sighed. "I'm not the best person to be associated with at the moment. The trial and the clean-up–"

"And when exactly did you come up with that nonsense?" He gaped at her.

"Owen…"

"Do I look like I give a fuck about that? I don't care about that crap."

"Well, I do." She folded her arms over her chest. "I don't want you to become a target for press, and God only knows who else. This whole situation is messy enough as it is."

And the way she made it sound so logical and reasonable made him want to put a fist through a wall.

"Well, if that's what you want," he nodded stiffly, looking somewhere past her.

"Look…" Claire started, but he simply shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked out of her office, not forgetting to slam the door behind him.

On his way back to her condo, Owen picked up her favourite take-out, guessing she probably wouldn't think to do it. Then he packed his stuff, and by the time Claire came back home from work, he was making himself comfortable in Lowery's basement, which turned out being a much better offer than it sounded at first.

xoox

In the two following weeks, he finally managed to screen the job offers sitting in his inbox.

The hard part about that was not knowing whether they wanted him for his knowledge and experience, or because they were curious out of their minds about his history with Jurassic World. In the end, Owen settled on a Wildlife Center that specialized in rescuing and rehabilitating native wildlife, mainly because they didn't seem particularly interested in anything but his resume and credentials during the interview. It was tough, but it beat pushing the papers in the office.

Claire called a few times, but he never picked up. Space she wanted and space she was going to get. He didn't go to the second hearing either, although he resented himself for it, feeling like he was a five-year old throwing a tantrum because he couldn't have cake for dinner. His mood was foul and he kept lashing out at everyone around him until both Lowery and Barry told him he'd be banned from the game night if he didn't get his shit together.

Then on a Saturday two weeks later, while one of the local channels was playing a special report on Jurassic World before football, she showed up at Lowery's dressed in skinny jeans and a plain black tee, her hair tied into a ponytail.

"Claire," Lowery all but beamed at the sight of her when he opened the door.

"Hey."

"Owen's downstairs," he pointed at the door near the one leading to the kitchen.

"How did you…?"

"Well, the last time you showed up at my house on a Saturday night for no reason was never," he shrugged. "So it was a wild guess."

When she made it down, Barry leaped up from the couch at the sight of her, sweeping her into a bear hug. "Claire!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she began, throwing an uncertain look at Owen who also rose to his feet but made no attempt to come any closer.

"Not at all," Barry grinned at her, slapping her on the back with enough enthusiasm to knock all air out of her body, but she didn't mind. It was refreshing to see someone who didn't want her dead or in jail. "Actually," he said when he finally noticed who she was looking at, "I better go check up on Lowery. We sent him to get nachos fifteen minutes ago…" he trailed off and then quickly disappeared up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

"Hi," she said for lack of better options and allowed herself a quick glance around a decent-sized bachelor pad that looked pretty much like every teenage boy's dream. Lowery could make a fortune renting it out.

"Hey," Owen echoed, studying her. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling quite stupid just standing there and staring at her. "We were just… it's a game night," he added as if she needed an explanation.

Claire nodded. "Sounds like fun." Her fingers were fiddling with a strap of her phone wrapped around her wrist.

"I saw, um, the hearing. Whichever part they broadcasted on the news."

She nodded again. "My testimony is almost over. And then it'll be just the lawyers settling the compensation payments with the judge."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "I mean, this situation sucks, but it's good that it'll be over and you won't–"

"I'm sorry," Claire blurted out. She sucked in a sharp breath like she was going to take a thirty-foot jump into the water. "I panicked. I thought you'd see how messed up my life was and wouldn't want to have anything to do with it."

"Life is messed up in general," he noted.

"Yes. It is. And it's okay." She paused for a moment. "But if that happened, then I'd lose not only you as you, but I'd also lose my best friend."

"Claire…."

"But I don't want to lose you to my dumb decisions, either." She added quickly. "It wasn't fast and I don't need space, and I screwed up, and I miss you. And I'm sorry."

"You've said that already."

"I did?" She let out a shaky laugh. "I had a whole speech prepared, but I can't remember any of it now."

He moved toward her, nearly tripping over the coffee table littered with beer bottles and packets of chips. And then his fingers were in her hair and his lips were pressed to hers, and she was laughing, or maybe it was him, or both of them, and he was kissing her like that first time on the island – with the same urgency that felt like life-and-death, except this time it felt like he was flying instead of falling.

"It's okay," he told her quietly, grinning. "I liked this one just fine. And I missed you, too."

"Is that why you never picked up your phone?"

"I said I missed you, I didn't say I wasn't a moron about it. You can be mad about it later."

"I will be," she promised him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Will you come back home?"

He framed her face with his hands, tilting her head up so she could see her better, his chest suddenly tight and his throat closed up, and he couldn't believe he went for two weeks without her because right now it seemed like he needed her more than air. "If you promise not to kick me out again."

Claire's smile widened and she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. "Deal."


End file.
